line-editing the newspaper. There wasn’t time for fluff.” Abby had been an English literature major, while I had taken the journalism track. It was a long-running feud.
“All right, all right,” she said. “But do you want to know what this is or not?”
“Fill me in, Shakespeare.”
Abby smirked. “It’s Elizabeth Barrett Browning, silly. You know, the famous poem, ‘How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Ways.’”
“Oh,” I said, remembering it in an instant. “I do know that one.”
“Of course you do,” she continued. “It’s only the most important love poem in the history of love poems.” She pulled up the verse on her phone and read out the lines.
I leaned back against the couch, keeping my wineglass close at hand. “How romantic,” I said, glancing at the photo again. “I bet she read it to him at their reception.”
Abby nodded. “You can see the words echoing in his ears. Look at his face. He cherishes her.”
“He did,” I said. “It’s all Mom talked about growing up, which is why she’s had two failed marriages, I think. She could never find her prince charming the way Grandma did.” I sighed, closing the album.
Abby leaned her head against my shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m afraid of failing, Abs. I’m afraid that our marriage was put to the test, and it wilted under pressure.”
Abby opened up the album again, pointing to the black-and-white photo. “I don’t care how perfect you say their marriage was; I’m sure they had their own problems.”
I gave her a doubtful look.
“Listen, I know you, Claire, and I know you love Ethan deeply. So why not fight for him? Cassandra has her hooks in him, but only because you stepped aside.”
I took a bite of pizza crust and then tossed it back into the box, thinking of the fine food she and Ethan were probably enjoying at the conference. “So what do you think I should do? Drive down there?”
“No, but for starters, you could return his call,” she said. “He’s called you, what, twice now and left messages?”
“Yeah.”
Abby grinned. “Call him.”
I picked up my cell phone and scrolled to his number. The connection went through, and my heart beat the way it would when calling someone after a first date. After the third ring, however, I let out a disappointed sigh.
“Voice mail,” I mouthed to Abby.
“Leave him a message,” she whispered.
I shook my head.
“Do it!”
“Uh, Ethan, this is Claire. I got your messages. Listen, when you get back from the, um, conference, can we talk? I miss you.” I paused, and Abby poked me in the thigh. “And I love you.”
“There,” I said. “I sounded like a total idiot. Are you happy?”
“Good girl,” she said, refilling my wineglass.
A moment later my cell phone buzzed. The vibration startled me and I spilled wine on the coffee table as I reached for the phone. Abby sopped up the mess with a stack of napkins by the pizza box. I looked at the screen. “Abby, it’s him.”
The phone buzzed again. “Well, aren’t you going to answer it?”
I took a deep breath and picked up, holding the phone to my ear. “Hi Ethan.” I couldn’t wait to hear his voice, to hear him tell me how much he missed me, that the message I’d left had touched him. After all, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d uttered the words I love you.
But instead of his voice on the line, I heard only commotion, a distant jostling sound. I detected the jingle of car keys, then a door slamming. “Ethan?” I said. “Can you hear me?” I turned to Abby dejectedly. “I think it’s a pocket call.” I continued to listen until I thought I heard the muffled sound of a female voice.
I hung up.
“What happened? What did he say?”
I wiped a tear from my cheek, before pushing the photo album away with my foot. “I think he’s with her.”
“How do you know?” Abby said.
I folded my arms, staring ahead, crestfallen. “There was a woman in the background.”
“Claire, it could have been anyone. Maybe it was a waitress at a restaurant.”
I shook my head. “No. It was her. I know it was.”
Abby held out her hand. “Not yet,” she said. “Don’t mourn the marriage yet. Don’t write the obituary. Wait until he’s back from Portland. Talk to him. Then make your decision.”
I shrugged.
“For now, we’ll have pizza and wine.” She reached for the remote control. “And Lifetime Original Movies.”
I sighed, never more grateful for my friend than at that moment.